L.E. Truscott's Blog, page 47

Book Review: Freakonomics & SuperFreakonomics by Steven D Levitt and Stephen J Dubner

Freakonomics

This book was absolutely fascinating, a quick read, and after I finished reading it, I kept introducing things I had read in it into conversations. I only have two issues.

The first is that I wasn’t always convinced by the logic they used. Suggesting that the crime rate dropped in America because the children who would have committed the crimes had been aborted once the abortion laws had changed was a very long bow to draw and absolutely unable to be proved! I think it’s important to note that a lot of the conclusions the book’s authors draw are theories, not fact.

The second issue was with comparing strange things – like whether a gun or a swimming pool is more dangerous for children. It’s easy to say drowning kills more children, but nobody takes a school full of children hostage with a swimming pool.

Silly comparisons like that detract from an important message, which is that nobody should be able to get away with outlandish statements without being able to back it up. Evidence is key! And economic data can be useful, not boring.

I would thoroughly recommend reading this book but I would also thoroughly recommend reading the criticism of this book and then drawing your own logical conclusions.

3 stars

*First published on 5 January 2015 on Goodreads

SuperFreakonomics

I don’t think it will come as a surprise to anyone when I say that if you liked Freakonomics, you will like SuperFreakonomics, too. It’s more of the same, an unconventional economist and his writing partner trawling through reams of data and drawing out some surprising conclusions. Often those conclusions are a bit of a stretch (the giant hoses in the sky and more pollution to solve global warming being a couple of them) but it all certainly makes you think.

Sometimes reading this book is like being sucked into a whirlpool as the writers like to follow a winding path in setting up their premise, following the evidence and eventually arriving at their conclusion. But they get there eventually.

If I had to choose between Freakonomics and SuperFreakonomics, I would probably choose the first one because some of the scenarios they explored actually had results (like identifying cheating teachers in Chicago). There were less results in this book, perhaps because they chose to write about enormous problems like climate change and terrorism.

I would definitely recommend reading this if you are looking for something to talk about with friends or book club members – you will get plenty of talking topics out of it – and for anyone who likes to read material that makes you think long after you have finished reading.

3 stars

*First published on 5 March 2015 on Goodreads

 

‘You’re the Best Boss I’ve Ever Had’ and Other Lies We Tell to Keep the Job

Last year I wrote about the lies we tell to get the job in the first place, including ‘I’m passionate about spreadsheets’, ‘I like washing everyone else’s dishes’ and ‘I’m happy to work overtime without being compensated for it’. So you’ve successfully lied your way into the job and you think maybe now you might be able to stop telling mistruths and have someone appreciate you for being honest.

Yeah, right. Instead, you’re more likely to find yourself continuing to lie in order to keep the job. Here’s a few I’ve heard (and perhaps a few I’ve used) over the course of my working life.

Lie #1: ‘You’re the best boss I’ve ever had.’

What it really means: All my other bosses before you were really terrible whereas you’re just mediocre.

Take note, bosses. Hearing this lie isn’t a cue to slack off. It’s a cue to try even harder (or just to try if you’re not trying at all) to make sure this becomes true and remains so regardless of how many other bosses your employee may have in the future. Set the bar high.

Lie #2: ‘Thanks for taking an interest in my personal life.’

What it really means: Knowing about and periodically asking superficial questions regarding the state of my relationship with my partner/children/cats/netball team/customers of my tarot card reading side business doesn’t make us friends.

Genuine friendships at work can and do exist. Knowing that a fellow employee has a partner/children/cats/netball team/a tarot card reading side business and periodically enquiring about the one thing you know about them does not, however, equate to a genuine friendship. And attempts to keep up the pretence of being interested in a colleague’s personal life are generally genuinely awkward.

It’s okay to be just a co-worker.

Lie #3: ‘I appreciate being invited to work functions outside of business hours.’

What it really means: How long do I have to stay?

The work/life balance seems to be getting more and more out of whack. And the more time employees have to spend working after hours without being paid, regardless of how that work is camouflaged as something else, the more they are likely to eventually resent their jobs. Unpaid work functions should be limited to one or two a year, such as a Christmas party. And honestly, I can’t even think of a reason apart from Christmas to hold another unpaid work function, which says enough it itself.

Lie #4: ‘I love receiving feedback on my performance.’

What it really means: I don’t even remember doing half the things I’m receiving feedback on. And by the way, when is it my turn to give feedback on your performance? What, never, you say? Shocking.

Performance feedback is an opportunity for recognition and the identification of development activities but it can often be like riding a rollercoaster over a minefield as bosses cram in one part praise to three parts unconstructive criticism and reminders of things gone or done wrong over the course of a year into a one hour window.

I was once told by a co-worker in my department who my boss loved and who I suspected was simply passing on a message from my boss that to get ahead, I should come to work earlier. Not work harder, not work smarter, not take on additional tasks, just show up earlier. When I asked why, I was told it was a perception issue. I shouldn’t worry about achieving more, he told me, I should just make sure people think that’s what is happening. Seriously?

Lie #5: ‘I love receiving feedback on my performance from people outside of my team.’

What it really means: Who was that?

It’s one thing to receive (hopefully) constructive criticism from your boss, your boss’s deputy and the team members you work with on a daily basis. But opinions given without being requested from people you aren’t even sure know what your job is and would be able to find Wally (or Waldo, depending on where you are reading this) in a candy cane factory quicker than they could find your last name on the company intranet is usually unnecessary and unhelpful.

If you’re breaching company policies, that’s what the Human Resources department are for. If someone outside your team thinks you aren’t doing your job the way you should be, that’s what bosses are for. They can receive the comments, investigate their accuracy by involving you in a discussion, and either counsel you for future improvement (in the case where there is room for it) or banish the accuser with a swift reprimand (where the comments are unjustified).

Either way, there is a time, a place and a person for everything. And when on the receiving end of this kind of feedback, it should be completely acceptable to simply say, ‘I prefer to receive this kind of feedback from my direct supervisor. Please feel free to address your concerns to them for their assessment. If I don’t hear anything further from my direct supervisor, I’ll assume that’s the end of the matter.’ Alas, I don’t think I’ve ever heard or summoned the courage myself to say anything of the sort. Which is a shame.

Lie #6: ‘I understand completely that there are no funds to hire some extra help.’

What it really means: There might be some funds freed up shortly when I can’t take being overworked any longer and quit.

Lie #7: ‘Travelling for work is a great perk.’

What it really means: I just wish my partner/children/cats/netball team/customers of my tarot card reading side business thought so, too.

This isn’t anywhere near a complete list. So add your euphemistic job retention statements (otherwise known as lies) and their real meanings in the comments section below.

*First published 21 May 2015 on LinkedIn

Guest Post: Death – Oil on Canvas by Zac Newnham

Another short story from Zac Newnham. If you didn’t see the previous one, please read the intro from it first then enjoy another great piece from a short story writer taken from us too soon.

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“Widows are very beautiful,” my father says to me.

He and I are alone in his apartment. His walking stick is nestled against the wall beside him. He’s perched by a window, almost leaning out it, easel up before him, paints out, brush in hand. There’s a cemetery across the road.

I don’t reply, and after a minute of silence he resumes his work, painting the grief that is etched on a woman’s face down below.

A gentle breeze is blowing his fine white wreath of hair about. In the absence of noise I step around the room and admire pictures of my mother; a few are of her younger years, faded around the edges, the sepia centre as strong as her gaze in the distance; others are coloured, only a few years old, her hair shiny and white and her eyes beaming with unsuspecting joy; there’s a stroke on the horizon.

It’s only when I step away, my eyes wet with tears, that I notice my fingers toying with the wad of cash in my pocket. Without a thought I throw it on the nearest linoleum-lined table.

“They loved their piece,” I call out.

My father doesn’t look up.

It was a year ago that my father began painting, but only six months ago that we began selling. Both our houses were full.

“The world loves death,” he said emphatically when I asked why he wanted to sell them, “so I will give it to them.”

I glanced at my mother’s framed pictures. “The world has enough death already,” I replied.

I blink and return to the present, to the gentle breeze and my father’s silence. Without taking his eyes from the window my father searches behind himself with his arms. He finds the binoculars I bought for his birthday then stares through them.

It’s a week later that the hospital calls. I sit by his bed for hours, clutching his limp right hand and staring at his half-drooping face.

A nurse asks me to collect some of my father’s personal belongings; clothes, pictures. I drive to his apartment. There’s a service underway across the road.

Inside, I spot his easel first; there’s a half-finished portrait sitting atop it. The woman is dark, painted in greys and blacks, with minimal white except for the eyes. She’s weeping.

In my grief I put a fist through the canvas, not because I dislike it, but because I can’t stand mirrors.

Book Review: The Rosie Project & The Rosie Effect by Graeme Simsion

The Rosie Project

I resisted reading this book for as long as I could because I didn’t want to get caught up in all the hype. Now that I’ve read it I have divided feelings about the hype – some of it is justified, some of it isn’t.

The book is well written, the characters are interesting and I read it in a couple of days (always a good sign) but towards the end it really started to verge on stereotypical romance. I may have gone into reading this not forewarned enough (i.e. I didn’t realise it was a romantic comedy, I thought it was going to be a bit more literary, especially since it was published by a company like Text Publishing). Having said that, I can honestly see it making a terrific romantic comedy movie.

If you’re like me, this book is well worth a read but it won’t be the life-changing literary experience some people seem to have had with it.

In any event, I liked it well enough to start reading the sequel, The Rosie Effect, straight away (although probably only because I bought both at the same time – if it hadn’t already been on my bed side table, I probably would have waited a few months to go out and buy it).

3 stars

*First published 21 December 2014 on Goodreads

The Rosie Effect

I know there seems to be a fervent positive response to these Rosie books but I haven’t been able to get on the bandwagon. The Rosie Effect (just like The Rosie Project) harks back to early screwball comedies but it is so contrived that I didn’t find it funny, just laughable.

None of the characters are even remotely likeable and if there is another Rosie book, I won’t be reading it. I’ve been sucked in twice now. I suspect I’m in the minority on this one but I will say that if Graeme Simsion writes anything new with different characters, I might give it go because he at least makes his work an easy read.

2 stars

*First published on 20 March 2015 on Goodreads

Letter to My Little Sister

If you haven’t read the inspirational guest post by my sister, Genevieve Davey, I would encourage you to read it first.

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Dear Genevieve,

You were supposed to be Alexandra. Mum always wanted to name a boy child Alexander and when we found out you were a girl (and likely to be the last child), we assumed you would be Alexandra. When you were born, she named you Genevieve instead.

Even though we are sisters, we have never lived together. I was seventeen when I moved to Melbourne to go to university. I was eighteen when I found out Mum was pregnant again. I was nineteen when you were born.

I don’t remember much about when you were a baby or even a toddler because I was so rarely around. My first significant memories of you were as a child when Mum moved the family to Melbourne. I was living with Nan and Pa and every afternoon after school, they would babysit you until Mum finished work. They didn’t understand you. Nan and Pa were two of my most favourite people in the world. You acted like they were two of your least favourite people in the world. Shy doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“She’ll grow out of it.” Everybody said it. Probably even me. You never did. Only now do we understand that the things affecting you weren’t, aren’t and never will be things that can be grown out of.

We are complete opposites in so many ways. I complain about having to pay for health insurance because I am the healthiest person I know. The last time I had anything other than a minor health concern was when I was recovering from a car accident at the age of eleven. I’ve had three operations in my life. One was a necessity – adenoids removed when I was so young I can’t even remember it happening – and the other two were elective – my ears were pinned back (yes, cosmetic surgery) when I was fourteen and my eyes were lasered when I was thirty-three (yes, pretty much just more cosmetic surgery). I’ve been told I have the markers for rheumatoid arthritis but as far as I can tell, at this stage, it’s a long way off. You’ve already been diagnosed with more conditions and had more doctors’ visits and more surgeries than anyone should have to experience in an entire lifetime and yet your lifetime is only 20% complete.

You assume people in the street look at you and make snap judgements about what they see on the surface. They do. They assume you must have it easy – or easier than them, anyway – because beautiful women always seem to have it easy. They look at you and see someone who might be a model. (I told you so many times you had a model’s face and body. I’m almost glad you don’t have a model’s height. I’d hate to think what that industry would have done to exacerbate your body dysmorphia issues if you’d pursued modelling as a career.) They don’t see the scabs or the scars or the lack of style. I don’t see them either. I see the most beautiful and stylish woman I know in real life. You make those tracky pants look good.

The hardest thing for me about your invisible illnesses is how helpless I feel. I want to fix you. I want to relieve your pain. I want you to look forward to the future and know that you’ll have one worth having. I want you to understand that being eighteen is hard enough without having health issues. I want you to know that your twenties will be eye-opening and better. And your thirties will be when you finally feel comfortable in your own skin metaphorically even though you will likely never feel comfortable in your own skin physically. I want you to know that you will grow into who you are meant to be and whoever she is, she will be wonderful. She will be supported. She will be loved. You will be loved. No matter what.

I will be here with hugs, an ear to listen with, a shoulder to cry on. I will be here to be beaten at Scrabble, to be taught Rummikub, to request the next artwork or guest post for my blog. I will be here, a little less blind because of you.

Your sister,

Louise

Guest Post: Invisible Illnesses by Genevieve Davey

Today’s guest post is from eighteen-year-old Genevieve Davey. Genevieve is my youngest sister, although with the nineteen year age gap between us, we are mistaken for mother and daughter more and more often now (despite the fact that we look nothing alike).

The following piece is the result of a list of thirty prompts published to encourage awareness and discussion of invisible illnesses in society and decrease stigmatisation during Invisible Illness Awareness Week. Gen’s honesty is confronting but impressive and I think this piece also demonstrates that the talent for writing runs in our family.

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The Illness I Live With

I suffer from rheumatoid arthritis, clinical depression, severe anxiety, chronic fatigue, gluten intolerance and eating disorders. Tests are also being underway to diagnose problems with my gut, so soon there will be another item to add to the list. As well as these ongoing issues, I was diagnosed with endometriosis last year and had an operation to remove the matter.

I Was Diagnosed In

The arthritis was diagnosed in 2013 by my rheumatologist after many doctors and specialists repeatedly announced that there was nothing wrong with me and that I was simply looking for attention. These announcements, in turn, triggered the symptoms of my mental health disorders. I was diagnosed with clinical depression and severe anxiety in 2012 by my psychiatrist, whom I adore and would not be where I am now without her.

But I Had Symptoms Since

I had always been a shy child to people outside of my comfort zone. However, the severe anxiety found a home in me before I could even talk. Last year, while my mama and I were having a girl’s night out, she told me a story. During the three years that I attended kindergarten (from 2½ to 4 years old), I did not say one word to my fellow peers or my carers and there was controversy as to whether I would be allowed to go to school the next year. I spoke at home; in fact, I never shut up at home, I just could not speak at kinder. On one ordinary day, my mama received a phone call from the crèche saying that they were throwing me a party to celebrate my first words to them, as they hadn’t believed I could talk until then. Naturally, after that day, I spoke so much that they probably regretted making a big deal over my accomplishment.

As for the clinical depression, I first started feeling more agitated and down for no particular reason around the time my sister moved out of the house. I grew up with her and was scared of what would happen without her at home to mediate arguments, talk to in the mornings while she would butter her semi-cooked bread and sip on her cup of tea, or simply to play the Super Nintendo with. After she left, I found it odd that I missed being yelled at for leaving toast crumbs in the margarine. I moved into her old room immediately and sometimes would lay on my bed and try to remember memories of past years, hoping to hear her annoying voice yell out to me, “Butthead!” In no way am I saying that her moving on with her life was the cause of my clinical depression, far from it, but this is the first memory I have of being sad for a prolonged period of time.

The depression sustaining its grasp on my life is a different story entirely, but too complex to state here. I first had symptoms of rheumatoid arthritis in 2009-2010 and I eventually had to have a surgical operation to break both of my legs. Throughout my life, my joints hurt immensely, but my mama put it all down to growing pains until the swelling appeared and, as a sufferer of rheumatoid arthritis herself, she knew all too well what my life would soon bring.

I have suffered from chronic fatigue through all of my high school life, which has not been easy, and it makes my autoimmune diseases at least ten times harder to live with. It is agony sleeping for ten to eleven hours a night and waking up still tired. I developed anorexia and binge eating when the clinical depression was uncontrollable, as they helped me to feel in control of at least one thing. They lasted for about a year, and even now I still have days when I will starve myself in an attempt to take control of my body, with failing leading to bingeing and rampant emotions.

The Biggest Adjustment I’ve Had to Make

Taking a handful of pills every morning, as before I got sick I couldn’t swallow one pill – I am proud of myself for that! Having to do blood tests every month to monitor my progress (yeah, I’m a regular now). This year, I have had to learn how to inject myself with Humira, an anti-crippling drug for the rheumatoid arthritis, every 14 days (look at photos on the web of what this disease can do and then say, “It’s just arthritis!”).

I also have to be wary about going out at night or on exhausting adventures, as I literally drop at a certain time every night. If I am having a flare up, I have had to learn to ask for help for tasks that I would normally do myself, which creates a dent in my pride. Learning ways to take control of my mind and body has been the hardest skill, and still there are days when my mind is in charge and I push everyone away, crying in the corner of my room whilst fantasizing over Tumblr and Pinterest pictures about cutting and pro-ana “thinspiration”.

Due to the severe anxiety, I found it excruciating to talk on the phone, and only in the past couple of years have I been able to – the first barrier I jumped over for this, of course, was calling up and ordering a pizza on my own (and damn, that made it all the more tasty).

I’ve had to cut out most of the gluten in my diet, due to my intolerance for it – this was a really hard task to do, as my love for carbohydrates overrules my stomach’s agony, for the most part. Cleaning up my diet, after growing up on chicken nuggets was a shock for me and served to be emotional, but the rewards I felt, psychologically and physiologically, were shocking. I have also found talking about my feelings to be a huge adjustment. I had never spoken to anyone too deeply about my thoughts and now, as I write this, I couldn’t be happier in the direction I am heading!

Most People Assume

I see strangers stare at me a lot in the street and at school and I still don’t know whether I want to be able to read their minds. I cannot answer this accurately, as no one has told me their first impressions of me, health-wise (feel free to though). But if I saw myself in the street and didn’t know my backstories, I wouldn’t assume very much about that girl as a person. However, her appearance would be judged: “Wow, that girl with those small boobs and chubby thighs has no sense of style – she is wearing tracky pants… in public! Look at her face; she has scars and scabs everywhere – gross! She is limping, huh; someone put her in a nursing home already! Why is she looking around at everyone else in fear? Weirdo!”

The Hardest Part About Mornings Is

Still being tired, after so many hours of sleep. Taking my tablets is a slow process and usually results in nausea and half an hour in the bathroom. The hardest part about the morning is eating breakfast. Mama usually makes me toast (I always leave one slice for my dog, too), otherwise I don’t eat – consuming food in the morning has always been a challenge for me. Although having a shower makes my muscles and joints relax, turning on the taps is a daily struggle. It is the little things that hurt the most.

My Favourite Medical TV Show Is

Grey’s Anatomy, Embarrassing Bodies, Call the Midwife, RPA, etc. I love hearing stories of others and knowing I am not alone in this battle called life.

A Gadget I Couldn’t Live Without Is

Most of these aren’t gadgets; however, they greatly assist me in living with my diseases. A heat pack to press against my muscles and joints, my laptop to look up hilarious cat videos when I am feeling overwhelmed, my pill box to organise the masses of tablets I take, the spa bath to relax in and escape after a long day, the food delivery system for the days when I have no spoons left (look up spoon theory) to cook for myself, and probably many more things that I have forgotten to include. My phone is something that helps me day to day, yet leads to my hands becoming swollen and painful – there are many of these sorts of gadgets that I am yet to decide if they’re a necessity in my life.

The Hardest Part About Nights Is

The oncoming feelings of loneliness and isolation, cramping muscles and oedema in my joints, regrets of eating as much as I had, the thoughts of guilt that control my mind as so many others have it worse than I do. The hardest part is staying awake to enjoy the night.

Each Day I Take

Eight pills, two of which are antidepressants.

Regarding Alternative Treatments

I disagree with most aspects of the health care system; however, when I am in this much pain I need control and closure straight away. My medication is effective, for now, but in the long term I hope to try homeopathy and naturopathy again, with their slow rates of benefit. I am severely allergic to most of the previous medications I have taken, including chemotherapy; however, giving up is not an option while I have so much to give. I used to get acupuncture and cupping done every week, but it got too expensive. I try to get them done at least once every six months now.

If I Had to Choose Between an Invisible Illness or Visible I Would Choose

I suppose this question simulates the “grass is greener on the other side” response. I honestly don’t know and I don’t think I ever will. With an invisible illness, there comes assumptions, judgements, speculations, “but you don’t look sick”, stigmatisation, justifications, and with a visible illness, I can assume, there would be looks of pity from strangers, questions raised by strangers, “help” from people, more knowledge in the community about the types of illnesses, etc.

Regarding Working and Career

No one knows what the future will bring (unless they’re psychic). Frightful prospects regarding work include being able to lift objects, abilities to write and/or type all day, using flights of stairs, being in crowds for extended periods of time, long hours and honestly, so much more. I will not let these diseases take control of how I live my life (for the majority).

In a more positive approach, I have decided that I want to become an ambassador (or some important person) for awareness of these diseases. I hope to raise conversation in communities and talk to fellow sufferers; I hope to change people’s perspectives and attitudes; I hope to make friends with people I would have otherwise never encountered; I hope to change the world!

People Would Be Surprised to Know

I attempted suicide – someone that I adore very much helped me through that tough period. Also, I love singing, dancing and performing (really just being the centre of attention) but the anxiety stopped any chances of that happening, growing up.

The Hardest Thing to Accept About My Reality Has Been

In recovery, putting on weight has been hard for me to deal with – it feels like any minute I will go back to starving myself in order to fall below my goal weight again. It is also hard watching my dog run around, wanting me to take her for walks and go on adventures, and knowing that I cannot and that I don’t know when I will be able to. This parallels with making plans with family and friends. I can make all the plans I want, but I don’t know whether I will actually be able to get out of bed on any given day.

Something I Never Thought I Could Do with My Illness That I Did Was

Pass year twelve – that’s right, I did it! I missed a lot of classes and I yelled at teachers weekly, but I put in the hard work and it paid off accordingly. Am I proud or what? Hell, yes!

Another thing that I thought was an impossible task was, simply, living. I hadn’t dreamt of a future for myself due to not wanting to live in this world, and so when the suicidal thoughts slowly dimmed, I didn’t know what to do with myself. The world was at my feet and I could be anything I wanted! I also never imagined I could be happy. The feelings of depression which engulfed my existence had redesigned my thought patterns and eaten away at any hope of happiness that had previously sparkled through my head. Now the little things make me happy; Nikola’s cheeky smile, Callum’s musical voice, Nikayla’s giggles, the sound of trees in the wind, homemade vegetable pie, romance and passion, mind-changing philosophy, the innocence of children and babies, and cuddles. Don’t ever forget the cuddles.

The Commercials about My Illness

There is not much media attention on arthritis at all. However, mental health and its importance is finally being shown the respect it deserves. Previously, if you were deemed to be mental (that is, mentally ill) it meant you were crazy, with your future likely consisting of a padded cell or a crack house. Today’s understanding of the human body tells us that no blame is to be made, as many aspects of life including genetics, physical environment and random chemical imbalances in the brain impact on the way the body functions.

Something I Really Miss Doing Since I Was Diagnosed Is

I miss dancing. I took formal dance lessons for a couple of months after I was diagnosed in order to show my diagnoses that I was in control. Fat shit that did – I had to quit before the term was up due to the immense pain it caused my joints. Mentally, however, it challenged my overbearing mind and gave it a focal point. I also miss the fitness component of dance, which satisfied my mind in regards to my weight. I am lucky if I even walk anywhere nowadays – a lovely stroll in the park with my boyfriend cost me half a morning of drowsiness and cramps – and that is just walking! As well as that, I miss being independent. I miss not needing to rely on others to help me with stairs or to massage my joints as they flare. I miss being able to stand up for myself without bursting into tears and having the ability to speak in words that others understand when I am not feeling okay. I miss health.

It Was Really Hard to Have to Give Up

I gave up my pride on this journey – I am still unsure as to whether that has heightened or sensitised me as a whole. I felt that my pride was lost as I uncontrollably bled into my boyfriend as he bandaged up my cuts and wounds from my self-harming behaviour. I felt I had lost my pride as I watched a surgeon stick his gloved hands inside me after awakening from an operation and not being able to urinate. I felt that I lost my pride post lying to my mama about my eating – or lack of. I feel that my pride is currently elsewhere as I stare at the zombie-like girl in the mirror, crying at her ugly face and body when others are dying and in need of the basic rights that I acknowledge none of.

A New Hobby I Have Taken Up Since My Diagnosis Is

Movie watching. Before I was seriously ill, the last thing on my mind was watching a movie. I soon learnt that sitting on the couch and doing nothing would become a regular pastime and that I could do little about it, so my boyfriend and I started sharing our favourite movies with each other to fill in the time that we couldn’t be active (some of his being Pulp Fiction, Moulin Rouge, Monty Python and most of Disney and mine including Love Actually, Chocolat and I Am Sam). We usually watch a movie every week now and have created an archive of our ultimate bestest ones.

If I Could Have One Day of Feeling Normal Again I Would

Ah, by now you know I am a lover of the little things in life. I would go for a run, climb a mountain, get impregnated by the love of my life, give my dog a bath, jump on the trampoline, dance, get a job, clean my bathroom, play with my nephews and nieces, get dolled up and feel beautiful, paint like I used to, burn my medical scripts. I honestly don’t know if I would do these; none of us know. I only hope it involves my loved ones and my happiness; those things I have missed the most.

My Illness Has Taught Me

Friendship lasts a lifetime. As depression took over, I pushed my friends away until we didn’t speak for a year. I hurt my best friend greatly and made her feel as though what had happened was her own fault. The illness turned me into an insensitive bitch and only this year did I find out just how my actions, along with other personal matters, had affected her. As I recovered, I realised what I had done and worked overtime to repair our six year friendship – made easier by her incredibly caring nature and unselfish personality. We are, today, back to harassing boys, scoffing down chocolate and making strangers feel uncomfortable. I love you, Nikayla.

Want to Know a Secret?

One thing people say that gets under my skin is, “You can control how you act.” Well, actually, you cannot! When you are depressed, anxious or having a psychotic episode (I have experienced all three) there is no getting through to the host. I remember running to my boyfriend’s house in the middle of the night once, bare feet and in pyjamas, on a mission to take him and run away together – I was having a psychotic attack and was screaming in the street. My mum dragged me home with a tight grasp and we cried for a couple of hours on my bed together. That night was a turning point for her and the first time that I felt she understood what I was going through, mentally.

“It’s just arthritis” is another one – have you looked up the crippled pictures yet? Oh and what about “You’re just doing it for the attention”? There are many more but I am getting angry just typing these, so let’s move on.

But I Love It When People

Hug me! I love snuggles and a listening ear, I love when people ask about the disease instead of assuming from what they have heard about it, when people offer a helping hand and when they know I am having a bad day and they stay with me through hell, lightening the load.

My Favourite Motto, Scripture, Quote That Gets Me Through Tough Times Is

“REMEMBER – I will always be here to kick you in the bum and get you moving in the right direction! Nikola :)” This message is written on a star-shaped sticky note and stuck on the wall above my desk. I read it daily to remind myself of the love and support I am blessed with, and to remember to show my Nuffy just how much I appreciate what he has helped me accomplish through these past three years.

When Someone Is Diagnosed, I’d Like to Tell Them

It is hell, but that’s okay. Simply getting out of bed is a daily accomplishment, but once out of bed and stable enough to keep moving, the day goes on and so do I! It is okay if you want to crawl up in a ball and cry your lungs out; it is okay to cancel plans with your friends because a date with the shower is what you make of the day; it is okay to choose razor blades over boys at this time – I understand your pain and I am here for you.

Something That Has Surprised Me About Living with an Illness Is

Spirituality has shined through me – my mind is more pure than it has ever been before. I can think and philosophise, when I am not in a trance, so deeply and clearly that I feel I can transform the world. My writing is my way of exploring this, for now anyway. I also never knew I could love so passionately.

The Nicest Thing Someone Did for Me When I Wasn’t Feeling Well Was

The nicest thing anyone can do when with a friend that isn’t feeling up to living that day is simply being there. On the numerous times when I haven’t felt okay, my boyfriend and my best friend have been there by my side, sometimes silent and sometimes rowdy and ready to cheer me up, and I couldn’t ask for anything more from them. Just don’t try to fix my problems, Nuffy, and we’re all good!

I’m Involved with Invisible Illness Week Because

Invisible illnesses are going to be a part of my life forever, and like they say, “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em!”

The Fact That You Read This List Makes Me Feel

Cared for and respected. It is three and a half thousand words of feelings and sop, but I hope it was a worthwhile read and that something was learnt about me, the diseases I endure on a daily basis, or this issue/topic as a whole. Because these illnesses are not invisible, our society is simply blinded.

****

Invisible Illness Awareness Week 2015 runs from 28 September to 4 October.

Book Review: The Host by Stephenie Meyer

Didn’t hate it, didn’t love it. I liked that the book was from the perspective of the alien (damn you, you violence loving humans) but like Stephenie Meyer’s other hugely successful series, it did seem like another contribution to the large collection of books that should all be subtitled “How to Get a Boyfriend”. And, of course, with another bizarre love triangle.

The conversations that take place between the alien and the person the alien is living in are strange at times and tedious at others. And considering that most of the story takes place in a cave, it’s amazing that the book is as long as it is.

There’s an antiseptic sort of quality to this book – sort of cold or lacking somehow. But if you like Stephenie Meyer’s other books, then I’m sure this will be just as palatable. The storyline is certainly a lot more inventive than the Twilight series and although I won’t be reading the sequels to find out (unless I’m stuck on a desert island and those are the only books available to read), there’s plenty of potential for future books.

2 stars

*First published on 17 February 2014 on Goodreads

One Bad Review

Once a novel is published and people have begun to read it, most writers would beg, borrow and steal to get good reviews. And because any publicity is good publicity (supposedly), some writers would even beg, borrow and steal for any review at all.

Since publishing Enemies Closer in 2012, I’ve had several reviews, fewer than I would like, but almost exclusively positive. Here are the highlights:

“Couldn’t put it down. I want a sequel now!”

“A fantastic read! I was hooked from the beginning. Written well, great characters and character development. Very exciting, thoroughly enjoyed!”

“A brilliant read sitting on edge of my seat, full of intrigue and interesting characters…Big thumbs up!”

“Intriguing and compelling…lead characters are strong, sassy… four stars”

“A good first read for the genre…four stars”

“Engrossed…five stars”

“This book by new author L.E. Truscott is well worth a download – a good read from beginning to end – enjoy! Five stars”

Perhaps the most pleasing thing about these comments is that half of them have come from people I don’t know. The other half are from friends and family who I begged to post reviews (borrowing and stealing aren’t really my style), although I will add that I asked only for honest reviews, not necessarily positive ones, even though they all were.

In an attempt to get more sales and more reviews, I added Enemies Closer to the Goodreads website and ran a couple of on-site advertisements. It has been added to reading lists a couple of dozen times and at the end of 2014, I finally received my first Goodreads review. Sort of.

No words. No explanation. Just a one star rating. Anyone familiar with Goodreads will know their star rating system is pretty generous. Even two stars means “it was okay”. But one star is definitively a bad rating.

Because it was my first and only Goodreads rating, anyone who looked at the entry for Enemies Closer would see that one star rating. I did what any writer would do: rang a friend who had read the book to tell her triumphantly that I had my first rating on Goodreads before self-deprecatingly admitting it was only one star. She did what all good friends do, immediately logging on to Goodreads and posting a five star rating for Enemies Closer to even out the average. To this day, those two ratings are the only two my debut novel has garnered on that site.

Perhaps the strangest part is that I don’t actually mind getting a one star review. What I mind is that the person posting the rating didn’t explain why he felt my book was only worthy of the lowest possible rank. Goodreads has the capacity for both ratings and reviews and, dammit, I want to know why!

Personally, I don’t give any credit to one star or five star ratings that don’t have an accompanying review to tell me why the book was respectively so bad or so good. This is especially true of five star ratings because people seem to give them out willy nilly. However, I am not confident that anyone else is as shrewd as I am in this regard.

My friend told me I should contact my one star rater and simply ask for an explanation. I’m not that much of an obsessive though. Close, but not quite. Instead, I am left to wonder endlessly and pointlessly.

I will instead issue this plea to my fellow readers on behalf of all writers out there. When posting a star rating for a book you’ve read, please also post a review, even if it’s just a few lines. It will save a lot of writers the heartbreak…of simply not knowing.

Postscript

Anyone who has read my five star Goodreads review of The Fictional Woman by Tara Moss (also posted on the Book Review section of this blog) will know how much I enjoyed her book. Pleasingly, Tara Moss herself is one of the people who has read my review, which I know because she liked my review on Goodreads. When I got that notification, I was so excited to have connected with a fellow writer in that way, even if it was as a reader.

So, I reiterate, please post reviews – to prevent endless wondering and possibly to make a connection that you never even imagined possible.

Guest Post: The Man Who Cut His Lawn With Scissors by Zac Newnham

Today’s guest post is perhaps an unusual one. The author, Zac Newnham, is family – my second cousin – although family promoting family, there’s nothing very unusual about that. His knack for top-notch short stories (from the very short to the slightly longer) meant that when the Melbourne Writers’ Festival asked people via Twitter who their favourite short story writers were, I immediately tweeted back about “a relatively unknown up-and-comer, Zac Newnham” and predicted “big things ahead for him”.

At the age of 20, Zac already had one qualification under his belt (non-writing related, just like me) and was studying for another (in professional writing and editing, again just like me). He was beginning to have small pieces of writing published here and there. He had an eye for the unusual. He had a liking for telling the stories of old men. And another theme in Zac’s writing was the casual bystander. Although he often wrote from the first person perspective, he was often narrating the story of someone else from the sidelines. He was a natural observer of the banal, the beautiful and the heartbreaking aspects of life.

On the Thursday before Easter 2013, I received a telephone call from my mother. She had news. Terrible news. Zac had tried to take his life. I found out later that he had gone to Kmart to buy Easter eggs for his family and girlfriend, then gone to Bunnings to buy a length of rope, which he tossed over a tree in a park and hung himself with. He was on life support in hospital but it didn’t look like there was going to be a happy ending.

And there wasn’t. Zac died just a few weeks before his 21st birthday. There would be no big things ahead for him.

Why? There are no answers to that question. Nobody knows why. Nobody saw it coming. The only things that we have now are our memories and the few pieces of writing that Zac left. So here’s “The Man who Cut His Lawn with Scissors”.

****

My next door neighbour should be in a retirement home; instead he has a carer who visits once a day. He used to need her. When she wasn’t there he spent all his time kneeling on his lawn, a pair of scissors in hand, trimming away at the grass.

His lawn was already pristine when he began each morning, a flat carpet of green, but he stayed out all day regardless, trimming at blades that might have grown by only millimetres overnight. Her job was to help him up and lead him back inside. If she didn’t, he would stay out all night.

Last weekend, a car pulled into his driveway, suitcases on the roof and children inside. The man’s daughter emerged to help him into the passenger seat, while his carer brought out his packed bag. As they reversed out and drove away, his eyes never left his lawn.

A Doctor Turf truck arrived shortly afterwards. The carer glanced up from her book only once or twice throughout as a team of burly men dug up the lawn, eventually leaving a grassy mound on the footpath.

Now the man is home again, although he hasn’t acted any differently. All this week he’s watched his new synthetic grass from his porch, sitting in a chair with his scissors on a table next to him. I guess he’s still waiting for it to grow.

Book Review: Persuasion by Jane Austen

I find Jane Austen as readable as anything being written today, which is not something you can always say about books that were written so many decades ago. But despite my initial enthusiasm for that simple fact, I have to admit I was a little disappointed by Persuasion.

So long buried beneath its more popular and well-known siblings, I now know there is a legitimate reason why. It’s just not as good as Sense and Sensibility or Pride and Prejudice or even Emma.

Anne Elliot is a rather pallid character, and it seems she is almost a de facto main character simply because everybody else in the book is so much more vain, silly, pompous or useless than she is.

There is no plot apart from one girl falling down and bumping her head and the cast of characters from start to finish made me feel like I was reading the 19th century version of a gossip magazine, a very well-written one but lacking nonetheless.

Frederick is your typical jealous guy and now that he’s rich, compared to years ago when he wasn’t, he is just about considered Anne’s equal but that’s pretty much all we know about him. There isn’t a huge amount of character development in this novel, of any of the characters.

My recommendation is to start with Austen’s other novels and tackle this one if you love those. If you try it the other way around, you may be put off a writer who is truly worth the effort generally speaking.

3 stars

*First published 30 January 2014 on Goodreads