A bloody red alert.
30 November 2016 • getting your period, girls, Grace Talks Sex, gracie actually has opinions, memories, menstrual cycle, period, period sex, periods, woman, women
My
period is officially over! Today I woke up with no blood on my
night-time pad, and nothing on the just-in-case tampon, either. Thank
goodnessing fuck. As soon as I saw the lack of red this morning, I
happily cracked open my box of The
Pill in my bedside drawer and I popped a 'Wednesday'. I'm too excited
for 30 days without that bloody hell, now.
Okay
so, did that little string of sentences seem weird? Maybe TMI? Why?
Are you not used to hearing these things? I bet if you're an avid
reader of blogs, you'll have read something like that before. Also I have
so many good blogging pals/heroes who have
written about periods in the past year or so (will list 'em below!). It's another taboo that's being pored over and
smashed to pieces. And I am delighted.
I've
always been quite upfront and open about my Lady Timez. I remember
asking friends on the playground at school, 'ermm, wanna come with me
to the bathroom?' with suggestive eyebrow wiggles that I felt only
young girls got the meaning behind – and then when I got to Year 11
and didn't give any shits I'd just flat out say 'I'm on,
who has a pad?'
Also,
at school, I found I got to an age when teachers would always
let me go to the loo mid-lesson.
I think it was in Year 9, maybe. All us girls were excused –
because the teachers, the young brightly-dressed women and even in
some cases the stuffier older men, wouldn't want us to be
uncomfortable, or y'know, bleed on their plastic chairs (which we all
did at one time or another. Ughh).
Caitlin
Moran has said that even aged 40 she still
discovers blood in her pants and exclaims 'WHAAAAT, fuck sake!?' like it's a hideous surprise. I
do, too. I've come on at the worst possible times (admittedly not as
bad as Caitlin, I mean, she came on while sitting on a white sofa and
watching Benedict fucking Cumberbatch recite a Sherlock monologue
about love that she was saving up in her wank bank). My
favourite/worst instance of period was when I was pitching my first
novel to an agent at the Curtis Brown Discovery Day. I was wearing a
light lilac dress, with just 40 denier tights and a pair of M&S
granny pants between me and the padded chair I was sitting on. And
y'know what I did? I kept pitching my arse off – as my front bits expelled. I sat up ever so slightly, pulled my light
dress out from underneath me (because blood getting on a cheap black padded
seat cushion vs blood staining a smart and expensive dress...no brainer) and
cracked on. Nobody knew. Well, Twitter knew, because I of course
tweeted about it from the toilets right after my pitch session was
over...
(Not pictured: oozing)
Anyway,
back to the point. Periods are considered evil most of the time, but
to be honest I just find them irritating. They come along when you're
least expecting it and they bugger up your life for a few days. I've
known friends to cancel plans with me because they're bed-bound with
cramps and don't trust their uterus to behave for long enough to
leave the house. I personally have only had proper period pain once,
and trust me that was enough. I'll go into that later on...
Also,
honestly, how many of my gorgeous female readers have been planning a lovely date night
with your other half then BOOM, blood, and the plans are
scrapped? Isn't it always the way? I often find I'll finally have something cooking up and getting going (as it were) in the personal department, and then I'll bleed continuously as if my body is screaming with nerves and trying to prevent me falling in love or whatever...
AND guy readers, I'm curious...does the bleeding bug you? I would ask all my guy friends in person and in private, but y'know, it's far more sensible to ask publicly in a post on the internet. That's what I do!
AND guy readers, I'm curious...does the bleeding bug you? I would ask all my guy friends in person and in private, but y'know, it's far more sensible to ask publicly in a post on the internet. That's what I do!
* Interjection
here, period sex is a thing and can actually be well good, like.
Here's me talking about it for The Mix, on YouTube for all to see!
(I showed this to the kids I lectured recently, after talking to them about blogging for 2 hours. It got a good/incredulous response.) *
(I showed this to the kids I lectured recently, after talking to them about blogging for 2 hours. It got a good/incredulous response.) *
I
was inspired to write this post after seeing Hannah Witton's 'The Hormone Diaries' on YouTube; she has stopped taking her pill for the
first time in years to see what happens to her body. I tell you, that
is fucking brave.
I
came off my pill once, because I was experiencing symptoms of a brain
tumour (+ inflated cyst around the brain tumour) and the neurologist I
saw was so sure that my twitches and face slumps and mini-fits were
happening because I'd been on the pill for almost 4 years straight
and it was starting to mess up my body (after 4 years of blissful
harmony with my body tho...?!). I came off my Yasmin and after 2
weeks or so...it wasn't pretty. My body soon realised it wasn't going
to get the usual hormone suppression/regulation stuff, it wasn't just
a usual week's break, and it got angry. The world fell out of my vag,
honestly it was a literal blood bath, I was changing my pad every
hour. My lower back and stomach were racked with pain, I was doubled
over with it. My skin exploded in spots – a huge plus to my pill,
mostly clear skin always! – and my boobs were suddenly aching
constantly. My then-boyf would try and pat me on the shoulder or
massage me and I'd cross my arms over my chest and shriek 'GET OFF ME YOU HURT EVERYTHING HURTS!'
Now,
I am sharing all this fabulous info with you guys because I feel it's
something I should – WE SHOULD – be able to share. Okay, there
are restrictions, for instance maybe don't talk about your menstrual
tendencies on a first date with someone you properly fancy (I guess
it could be a good device to get rid of a date you're not that fussed
about...) and perhaps keep it to yourself when you come on during a
lunch with extended family or in-laws. Just slip away to the loo and take care
of it, then tell family members afterwards if you wish. Don't yell,
at the dinner table, 'I AM BLEEDING!!', yeah?
However,
with friends and people you definitely trust and think would share
their experiences and personal tricks (like how, at 16, I used to tell
friends excitedly that wearing a tampon until THE SECOND BEFORE sex
meant less or no blood during, pro tip people), go for it. Share
share share. Get it said aloud, in conversation, at home or in a
public place.
A big moment for me recently was when I actually started ripping out my pads, tearing open a new one and replacing in public toilets. I used to flush the toilet first, or wait until some kind lady would switch on the hand-dryer outside my cubicle. I hated the idea that people knew what I was up to, that I was bleeding and needed to stem the flow with a sanitary towel as all women do tho?! I'm also taking out pads and tampons from my handbag and not making any effort to hide them (but not exactly flaunting them either) as I walk to the toilet. For some reason I always felt like someone seeing me holding a bright pink packet or a yellow plastic tube would change their opinions of me. Wtf?
-- little note here, can the FHP makers please someday create a wrapper for pads and tampons that actually is SILENT when you open them? Seriously, it can't be that hard.
Okay, that's me done on this topic, for today anyway. I may have to get on the #livetweetyourperiod hype next month. I know I tend to slip into ranting mode when writing these posts and sometimes that can make the meaning ebb ever so slightly but I so hope y'all stuck it out and read on through the rants.
I personally LOVE being able to text and talk with friends about our periods. I'll throw it into conversation – usually when describing a minor yet emotionally traumatic recent event; 'oh yeah, but I'm on the blob so that could be why I cried for 4.5 hours...' It's guaranteed hilarity and/or sensitivity. So let's talk more. It's a natural thing. Why the fuck don't we talk about it? We talk about pregnancy and babies and (male) wanking (grr) and even a bit more these days about actual sex - so why not this?
A big moment for me recently was when I actually started ripping out my pads, tearing open a new one and replacing in public toilets. I used to flush the toilet first, or wait until some kind lady would switch on the hand-dryer outside my cubicle. I hated the idea that people knew what I was up to, that I was bleeding and needed to stem the flow with a sanitary towel as all women do tho?! I'm also taking out pads and tampons from my handbag and not making any effort to hide them (but not exactly flaunting them either) as I walk to the toilet. For some reason I always felt like someone seeing me holding a bright pink packet or a yellow plastic tube would change their opinions of me. Wtf?
-- little note here, can the FHP makers please someday create a wrapper for pads and tampons that actually is SILENT when you open them? Seriously, it can't be that hard.
Okay, that's me done on this topic, for today anyway. I may have to get on the #livetweetyourperiod hype next month. I know I tend to slip into ranting mode when writing these posts and sometimes that can make the meaning ebb ever so slightly but I so hope y'all stuck it out and read on through the rants.
This
is just the latest in my series of subjects that I wanna chat about!
Here are some others...
And here are some of the aforementioned important blogger pal posts:
- Gorgeous Jo @ Jo Scribbles talks to her guy friend about periods.
- Safe Space, this totally rad and beautiful blog run by the coolest team, wrote about contraception for women!
- And of course, The Mix wrote an article about period sex before they asked me to talk about it in front of a camera...
- The excellent Tara aka Catstello has a whole damn category on her blog entitled Period Pride. Big up that super woman.
- As per, Buzzfeed has something to say about periods. Specifically, 14 charts that apply to those who have periods...?!
- At some point when searching for images to put in this post I discovered YouTube channel Girlztalkx and her magical 2012 video 'How To Hide Your Period At School'. What a lovely little badass.
- Finally, this post on gurl.com The 17 Most Annoying Things About Getting Your Period is a hilarious masterpiece.
Until next time, folks xoxo
Gilmore Girls, A Year In The Life: my mixed feels.
28 November 2016 • binge watch, Gilmore Girls, Gilmore Girls A Year In The Life, Gilmore Girls Revival, Netflix, Stars Hollow
Hello
friends, readers and fellow Gilmore lovers, it's me. One of your most
obsessed and vocal fangirls, who has been tweeting and chattering
about this exciting revival since it was announced this
time last year. I even blogged about it, with a few requests for the
writers – Amy and Daniel, the original Gilmore Creators, thank goodness.
Well, now I've seen it. I witnessed the revival. And as you can imagine, I have thoughts.
Well, now I've seen it. I witnessed the revival. And as you can imagine, I have thoughts.
(Source: my Instagram)
I watched the 4 feature-length episodes that made up 'Gilmore Girls: A Year In The Life', with my little sis who is every
bit as loving of and dedicated to the show as I am (possibly more, if
only because she can name each and every episode, plus
its position in the series, when I quote a few lines from it or ask
when that thing happened).
I'd swapped shifts at work so I'd have the day to watch, and I know
of several friends who had booked holiday in advance so they could
binge-watch. It was quite the event.
I
must say, the publicity leading up to this magical day was on point –
every so often for the couple of weeks leading up to the big reveal at 7am
Friday morning (midnight in the US) there was a video on the
@gilmoregirls Instagram; the Town
Troubadour singing, the key pieces of the set, the cast sharing silly
little secrets for the followers to devour, e.g. the Huppah is still
erect in Lorelai's garden/Paul Anka's outfits are 'back and better
than ever'/Stars Hollow finally got parking meters 'but no-one would
pay them'.
All
day long on Friday, Twitter was exploding with Gilmore gifs and
classic quotes; the hashtag #GilmoreGirlsRevival was in everyone's
faces and seemed to win out over #GilmoreGirls (because old school)
and #gilmoregirlsayearinthelife (because whoa, long).
Sis
and I enjoyed 6+ hours in Stars Hollow. We got snacks, we set up camp under a blanket, we had litre bottles of water to avoid
needless pausing and refilling cups (although this meant we had to
pause a couple of extra times to pee...didn't think that through),
and our mama initially said she wouldn't be joining us for the first
time watching (although she did later on, obvs) because we needed to
have this experience together and with no distractions that may
inhibit our reactions.
At
first we were ignoring our phones, in case of spoilers. We had them
face-down beside us and gave the TV our undivided attention. But
later on, after much discussion, we decided to chance a glance at
social media now and again. I had photos to edit for Insta, and by
episode 3 I was actually intensely curious as to what my fellow
Gilmore fans on Twitter were thinking of it thus far. We justified it
by agreeing 'true Gilmore lovers wouldn't spoil anything'. There was
even a photo of a badge doing the rounds online, much like one
Jackson once wore: 'I do not want to learn the last 4 words of
Gilmore Girls'. Sure enough, I did not see any spoilers when I logged
into Twitter. Bless you, friends.
Now,
2 days on, I am seeing a lot of tweets and Facey B posts that tell
of thoughts similar to mine...which is a relief. Everyone seems to
have come down with a bout of mixed feelings.
Which is the most immense relief for this Gilmorite. I am a physical
manifestation of mixed feelings. I am a bag of feels.
So, let's try and break some of these mixed feelings down, now.
So, let's try and break some of these mixed feelings down, now.
I
promise to be nice and remain 100% SPOILER-FREE. I urge all my fellow
bloggers and tweeters who are also experiencing the now very common
and surely infectious surge of mixed feelings to do the same. Don't
spoil. It's evil.
***Having said that, if you have watched the 4 new eps then I recommend Jemma (aka the mighty Dorkface)'s spoiler-filled but beautifully positive (and way more coherent) musings which you can read right here.
****And I also loved Lex Croucher's video on the subject, entitled 'Rory Gilmore Sucks'. Again, SPOILERS APLENTY.
*****My lovely friend Kora sent me this Verge article that is harsh af and rammed with spoilers, but I agreed with so many points!?
***Having said that, if you have watched the 4 new eps then I recommend Jemma (aka the mighty Dorkface)'s spoiler-filled but beautifully positive (and way more coherent) musings which you can read right here.
****And I also loved Lex Croucher's video on the subject, entitled 'Rory Gilmore Sucks'. Again, SPOILERS APLENTY.
*****My lovely friend Kora sent me this Verge article that is harsh af and rammed with spoilers, but I agreed with so many points!?
Okay. My
overwhelming feeling, in amongst the aforementioned mixture, is that
the show I saw on Friday 25th November was simply not my Gilmore
Girls.
My sister thankfully articulated this perfectly after episode 2 'Spring' – and I was so grateful she felt the same because otherwise our experience watching together may have turned sour – 'Gilmore Girls: A Year In The Life' was a Netflix original series. Yes, correct. But it felt like that, too. It felt like Netflix had made their own version of this classic show. It was so Netflix. The bright sets, the camera panning lazily around these insanely bright sets, the perfectly positioned seating arrangements for intense character discussions, the HD focus on the characters' faces that really put me off at times – yes I am aware that this is sounding like me slamming the amazing website's big budgeting and fantastic quality of filming and maybe I am, but...it wasn't Gilmore Girls. It was something else. That's the only way I could say it. Gilmore Girls was always filmed on maybe 10 different sets absolute maximum, and they were never needlessly bright or HD. They were, quite famously, autumnal af. And soft-focused, although that may have simply been down to the quality of filming equipment at the time. It doesn't matter. That was the GG I loved. So when my sister said this, I was relieved it wasn't just me.
My sister thankfully articulated this perfectly after episode 2 'Spring' – and I was so grateful she felt the same because otherwise our experience watching together may have turned sour – 'Gilmore Girls: A Year In The Life' was a Netflix original series. Yes, correct. But it felt like that, too. It felt like Netflix had made their own version of this classic show. It was so Netflix. The bright sets, the camera panning lazily around these insanely bright sets, the perfectly positioned seating arrangements for intense character discussions, the HD focus on the characters' faces that really put me off at times – yes I am aware that this is sounding like me slamming the amazing website's big budgeting and fantastic quality of filming and maybe I am, but...it wasn't Gilmore Girls. It was something else. That's the only way I could say it. Gilmore Girls was always filmed on maybe 10 different sets absolute maximum, and they were never needlessly bright or HD. They were, quite famously, autumnal af. And soft-focused, although that may have simply been down to the quality of filming equipment at the time. It doesn't matter. That was the GG I loved. So when my sister said this, I was relieved it wasn't just me.
Because
my feeling up until that point had been 'they've taken my characters,
our characters that we
love so damn much, and they've just put them somewhere
else?!'
(Source here)
That's
what it felt like throughout. Sure, there were many moments that
saved the individual episodes, for instance when Jess reappeared in all his glistening ripped glory, as
we knew he would (sis pointed and shouted when Rory came on screen
wearing the outfit she was wearing when she chatted with Jess in the trailer; 'JESS IS COMING!'), and he put Rory's life ever so slightly
back on track, telling her 'you're still a contender'.
In fact, a lot of the old cast reappearances were saving graces throughout: Carole King's smiling face made me squeal (even if she was in the worst scenes EVER, like, a 20 minute sketch of sorts about a Stars Hollow musical?! Seriously, wtf?), Sookie of course brought the kitchen to life once again if only for one scene, and of course I could not get over Dean's little burst of screen time, he was perfect.
In fact, a lot of the old cast reappearances were saving graces throughout: Carole King's smiling face made me squeal (even if she was in the worst scenes EVER, like, a 20 minute sketch of sorts about a Stars Hollow musical?! Seriously, wtf?), Sookie of course brought the kitchen to life once again if only for one scene, and of course I could not get over Dean's little burst of screen time, he was perfect.
Whenever
a new yet old character came into view we kept shouting 'they look
EXACTLY THE SAME!' or, in Zach's case, 'WHOA HE IS A DIFFERENT
PERSON?!'
But at times, it felt a little like each character was just shoved on screen momentarily to induce those reactions in us...not many of them actually managed to hold a conversation or take part in the bigger story lines.
A few full-on slight-spoiler pet hates quickly...
But at times, it felt a little like each character was just shoved on screen momentarily to induce those reactions in us...not many of them actually managed to hold a conversation or take part in the bigger story lines.
A few full-on slight-spoiler pet hates quickly...
- Fat-shaming. The Gilmore Girls let themselves down in one scene when they kept pointing out their less than healthy town peers...why?!
- Luke had moments when he was...dumb. Luke was never dumb. A bit hapless with his true personal feelings most of the time, sure, but he was never flat-out stupid.
- The coffee cups were still never full. All I wanted was for the cups to be filled with water or something, just so they would actually be sipping real liquid and so they wouldn't be flinging their arms around so freely while holding takeaway cups!?
- My immediate family and I have all, at some point in our lives, been to counselling. All with separate therapists, in different places. So we have our experience with this kind of thing. The therapist in the revival, dealing with Lorelai and Emily? Unprofessional and just outright terrible.
- Okay, I'm done now. (I may tack on more later on in edits) (Oh yes, I did)
Yes,
there were many moments when my sister and I would gasp and shriek
and grab at each other, excited to see the good old Gilmores on top
form, if only for a moment or two.
Richard's
story was as good as it could have been, they did him justice and I
was so grateful for that. Rory's mess of a life was pretty much all down to her
writing and her career and quite shockingly not all
down to which guy she was going to end up with, which was refreshing
(I am still Team Logan forever, even after his very bad behaviour in
this revival, although I cannot deny Team Jess are seeming stronger
every time I re-watch...seriously, why has she never actually tapped that? He's smokin' hot and awesomely mature these days). Lorelai and Luke were still my OTP, just
about. Kirk was a silver fox edition of Kirk.
(Source here)
Now, let's hang on a second here. I know I've been harsh. But you must understand, the first time watching this revival was so important to me. My expectations were sky high, and very delicately balanced up there.
I re-watched the 'Winter' episode the following morning, with sis again, and the parents as well this time. And y'know what? It was better. Funnier, sweeter, more true to the original series. Maybe it's because my expectations weren't quite as absurdly infeasible that time around – quite the opposite, in fact! So maybe I'll carry on, and watch the next three all over again. Maybe it'll be better the second time. I won't be caught up in the plot, I'll know what happens so I'll be able to appreciate the smaller details and the gentle or enormous character arcs (I mean, Emily Gilmore, you superstar).
I re-watched the 'Winter' episode the following morning, with sis again, and the parents as well this time. And y'know what? It was better. Funnier, sweeter, more true to the original series. Maybe it's because my expectations weren't quite as absurdly infeasible that time around – quite the opposite, in fact! So maybe I'll carry on, and watch the next three all over again. Maybe it'll be better the second time. I won't be caught up in the plot, I'll know what happens so I'll be able to appreciate the smaller details and the gentle or enormous character arcs (I mean, Emily Gilmore, you superstar).
On the 25th
November, when I settled down to watch my beloved Gilmores and see
where they were and what they were doing 9 years on...I don't think
anything could have satisfied me. I'm sorry, Gilmores. My bad. I promise to
try again. And you know I will always love you, no matter what. Copper boom.
(Source: my Instagram)
Books Are My Bag Readers Awards ; the evening!
26 November 2016 • book, bookish, books, Books Are My Bag, Books Are My Bag Awards, gracie actually reads, reading
I
was so delighted and honoured to attend the first ever Books Are My Bag Readers Awards event, in one of my favourite London
bookshops, on Thursday 24th November.
I wrote about these awards, specifically the Childrens Shortlist, when
they was first announced a while ago. And the beautiful humans at
BAMB sent me all of their shortlists in each category! Those babes. I
have since been enjoying some wildly varied fiction and hard-hitting
non-fiction – breaking each tough read up with a gorgeous picture
book, obviously.
The
buzz in the room when the award winners were called out was brilliant; I found myself bouncing on my toes as I silently
rooted for the authors and books I'd voted for online...but then at the same time I was totally psyched for all the
other shortlisted candidates, all of them excellent and worthy of the win.
There
are so many awards these days that are judged by a panel, and subject to just a
small group of opinions – but these awards were perfect in that
they were voted for by readers! Good work, BAMB. Giving the loyal and loving readers a voice
– and no doubt the authors appreciate their wins more when they know
it was a mass vote that people took time out of their days to submit!
I certainly would, anyway.
The
evening was packed full of lovely moments. Seeing Stacey again after
so long – and after she'd been on several European adventures –
was lovely. And while hugging George Lester (often for longer than
strictly necessary) is always a treat, this time was extra special
because we were all dressed up and feeling important as we were both
featured bloggers for these awards, thank you very much.
Then of
course chattering my head off with authors is always a highlight of a
book event for me – even after doing it for over a year, I still
freak out and babble excitedly and lose my cool (if I even
had it in the first place) when an author looks my way.
I
was thrilled to meet David Litchfield, author of 'The Bear and The Piano'. That picture book is so beautiful that I read it twice in
quick succession – and it made me weep a little. I may have
panicked the author slightly when he went for a handshake and I
pulled him in for a hug...
I
was so heart-wrenchingly happy when Matt Haig won the award for Non-Fiction; his book 'Reasons To Stay Alive' brought the most insane
clarity and relief to me and my silly brain when I discovered it a
while ago, and I have lent/gifted it to everyone I know who I feel
would benefit from his musings and stories as much as I did.
Then
after the awards were all presented, and approximately 3 glasses of
wine were consumed on my part, I strode up to him to tell him just
this, all of this, plus deliver a huge thank you of course. We ended
up chattering for a while after he recognised me from Twitter, I gave
him my business card and then postponed my excited freaking out for
the train home. Phew.
When
Max Porter's 'Grief Is The Thing With Feathers' won the award for
Fiction, I lost it a bit. Because hell yes,
this book (which I devoured in 4.5 hours one sunny Sunday sitting in
an independent book shop) (and have since bought for about 5
different friends) just made me feel everything. It reminded me of my
time studying Creative Writing at uni, when I'd happily unleash all my messy thoughts onto a poor unsuspecting page and afterwards edit and see what worked. His beautiful tangles of words and emotions were just...something else. Congrats, Max.
But
it was when Julia Donaldson and Sarah Ogilive's book 'The Detective Dog' was announced as the winner in the Children's shortlist that I
squealed the most. Because I was so happy their gorgeous and genius
picture book won – it was up against some stiff YA and MG
competition, not to mention its picture book rival 'The Bear and The Piano'! Congrats again to Julia and Sarah, and to Pan Mac.
Also, mad props to the writers of 'The Good Immigrant', you all smashed it and yeah, obviously you won the Readers Choice Award. I mean, c'mon.
I
could ramble on about this wonderful evening forever and a day, but
I'll leave it there for now. If anyone wants to know more, like how
many glasses of wine I managed to consume, or how overcome with joy I
was when they presented me with a goodie bag as I left, or how
magical it was walking to Charing Cross station with the one and only
George who was my very cheeky guardian angel at those awards...well then DM me,
perhaps.
I
haven't actually been able to attend many book events in the big
smoke recently, and I felt that this was the perfect one to pull me
back into the excitement of the bookish world. I'd missed it. Let's
hope I have more time to attend these events in the new year. I may
make it a resolution...
Wanna win the entire list of winning books? Click here!
Oh also, today is BAMB's Civilised Saturday; the perfectly chilled follow-up to the wicked Black Friday! Check it out.
Other blogs I have written under the lovely Books Are My Bag umbrella:
Just Some Things #8 : Rosie B-D.
24 November 2016 • amwriting, creative, guest blogger, guest posts, Just Some Things, prompts, writing prompts
This
is the latest instalment in my feature Just
Some Things!
In
case you don't know, here's how it works...
I
send a writer an individual email with a series of prompts from the
'642 Things to Write About' book – chosen entirely at random – and then when I
get the responses, I dedicate a post to them and their piece. It
could be short, long, backwards, in another language, I don't mind.
It'll be an adventure whatever happens! And they can use or ignore
however many of the prompts they wish.
When
published on the blog, their piece will be put in first and then I'll
add in a little piece beneath it, my response to the same prompt. I
will always ensure mine is shorter and less prominent, obviously.
It's all about featuring my fave writers.
Today
my guest writer is the delicious Rosie B-D; one of my
many barista pals but this gal is particularly special as she loves
books AND cats just as much as me. She is a newbie book blogger, too!
Her
prompt was: The
secret that, if revealed, could change everything...
It
sits heavily in the depths of my stomach. Dragging me down, down. Oh,
the weight of the world is crushing upon my shoulders, an attempt to
bury me in the cold damp earth.
Do
you know how small I have become? How I plead with the universe to
let me disappear? To solely wish to become only but a memory in the
vast blackness of nothing; be at peace with myself...?
I
wish, so desperately, to take it all away; to cleanse my body, my
mind. How I beg to turn back time and right my wrongs to save myself
from this inevitable punishment.
I
walk along the crowded corridor. Everyone is rushing by me. They
think of classes they need to get to, excuses they need for homework
that was never completed. They cannot see me, no one does. I’m
trying to focus, to see some hope, to feel some strength inside me
that can solve this. My feet do their best to move me forward, one
step at a time, but I feel that I am only going backwards. There is
nowhere where I will be safe; no one that would understand what I
have done and what will happen. The sadness rips through me like a
hot, burning knife.
No
words can be uttered through my trembling lips. I clamp my mouth shut
as if they had be sewn together; surpassing the urge to rip them
apart, through all the pain and anxiety. I wish more than anything to
be free; to fly away and never look back. To feel that cool breeze
caress my body, to become carefree.
But
freedom comes at a price.
If
I spoke the words that angrily travel around and around in my mind,
oh everything would be ruined. I could not bear it. The sadness that
I would cause would be unthinkable. The anger, the guilt, the pain
that I would have caused…
I
would have no one to turn to, no one to depend upon. I will be alone,
more alone than ever.
It’s
entirely my fault. I am to blame. There’s nothing I can do but shut
my eyes and will this to disappear. For me to disappear.
My
secret grows inside of me; each day it grows bigger and stronger. I
do not know if I have the will the contain it; to hold myself
together and be brave.
I
count day the days, the months. I watch the hands of clock tick, tick
tick. My skin crawls and I feel the hopelessness.
And
here is my
response
to the same prompt...
My
name is Sid. I'm your average fellow, tall and dark and arguably
handsome, and I frequently commute into London for writing gigs, some
magnificent theatre experiences and of course the occasional
shmoozing session over cocktails...oh yes, I am quite normal, if
slightly classier than most perhaps.
But of course, I am not without my dark past and closely-guarded secrets. One secret in particular I feel would blow minds and induce shrieks, were it to come out of the bag...shall I tell you? Fine, I will indulge the masses of eager readers. But you cannot tell anyone else, understood?
Good. Now, wait for it...
But of course, I am not without my dark past and closely-guarded secrets. One secret in particular I feel would blow minds and induce shrieks, were it to come out of the bag...shall I tell you? Fine, I will indulge the masses of eager readers. But you cannot tell anyone else, understood?
Good. Now, wait for it...
I
am actually, quite secretly, a cat. Yes, I know, shocking right?! I'll give you a moment to calm down and correct yourselves. I need to clean my left leg anyway.
I
know, I know, how did I manage to keep this from you? To deceive so
many?! Well my disguise is excellent; a floor-length trench coat,
five-fingered gloves stuck on my paws, a fedora pulled down over my
ears and obscuring my particularly fluffy brow...I could fool anyone.
I am flawless, I think to myself, as I walk upright through Waterloo station at 8:31am, nobody would know.
I have mastered human language, through a series of awkward grunts and stutters when really I am tempted to mew loudly. I now ace social interactions and keep my hands (paws) to myself when I am really fighting the red hot urge to knock a person's drink off the table or nudge their face with mine over and over again and oh, that would feel so good............but I must resist. I am human meow. I mean...now. Shh, my friends. Tell no-one. Nobody can know.
I am flawless, I think to myself, as I walk upright through Waterloo station at 8:31am, nobody would know.
I have mastered human language, through a series of awkward grunts and stutters when really I am tempted to mew loudly. I now ace social interactions and keep my hands (paws) to myself when I am really fighting the red hot urge to knock a person's drink off the table or nudge their face with mine over and over again and oh, that would feel so good............but I must resist. I am human meow. I mean...now. Shh, my friends. Tell no-one. Nobody can know.
*
If you'd like to be involved in one of these Just Some Things posts, email me at [email protected].
Past encounters.
23 November 2016 • ex-friends, friends, gracie's life, memories, personal, the past
In
the past 2 weeks or so, I have had 3 encounters with my past. 3
people that had been waiting to re-enter my life for who knows how
long, and finally Fate rung her bell and our paths crossed in the
most unexpected ways.
Human
encounter #1 was...a pleasant surprise. It was something I'd
dreaded and at times actually properly feared, and despite being
almost constantly reassured by family members and friends – real
friends – I knew someday it would happen. We'd meet again, and
things would be said. They would have to be. The way we left each
other's lives was messy to say the least and, well, just unfinished.
It left a deep and complex sadness in the pit of my stomach and a
sour taste in the back of my throat. It led to me hysterically
weeping on trains as they passed through that station; I
would desperately scan the platform to see if by some sick twist of
fate they would get on my train, and the peace that I'd worked so
hard to achieve in their absence would be shattered in seconds when
their eyes met mine.
Yes,
I was afraid. Yes, I was unsettled. Yes.
So
then when the moment, that somehow inevitable yet unexpected reunion,
came about in the middle of the city one evening – when they
reached for me and started the conversation that soon became riddled
with timid enquiries and gentle compliments that were easily inserted
but clearly heavy with sincerity...it wasn't what I thought it would
be. It was nice. It
was a relief. Of course, I was waiting throughout our chattering for
those old feelings of hatred and rage and maybe even fear to stir
inside me, for the memories of fights and screams that then subsided
into outright ignoring and enormous silences, to fill me up
and make me sick...but they
didn't. I looked at this face, that I knew so well even after years
away from it, not seeing it every morning in the kitchen or every
afternoon in lectures as I once did, and I felt nothing but light and
polite interest; like I would anyone else I hadn't seen since the
days we spent together as students. But I also felt that much better
in myself, not like a shadow of this person any more, not a
supporting character. I felt cool and
strong and even a
little bit hot. And I
felt them recognise that in me, and respect it.
I
got on the tube afterwards and genuinely felt light and free and like
I could just whoop with joy in
this carriage crammed with strangers at 10:41pm.
Because
I hadn't quite gauged the size of the storm cloud, nor the immense
weight of it, that our sudden parting of ways after some dark
exchanges had brought about. I almost looked up to see if the sky was
any clearer above me. It certainly felt that way. Because I'd finally
got my closure, and finally had questions answered that had been
brewing within me for 2 years. So thank you, human #1. Thanks for
reaching out. You know, I think if I'd seen you first I'd have
instinctively scurried away, buried my feelings and burning
questions, and then regretted it for more years.
Human
encounter #2 was every
bit as excellent as I wanted it to be – and knew it would be.
Human
encounter #3 was the
worst, but was exactly what I'd expected when I got over the initial
shock at seeing their face again, in an unfamiliar environment –
actually not unfamiliar at all, it was my environment,
with my usual
inhabitants who I've come to be so familiar with, it was just their
presence that was alien and odd and unpleasant. I won't lie, my heart
kicked into overdrive and my legs almost fell apart beneath me; my
hands shook as I grabbed for my nearest friend to help me somehow, to
save me from this hideous reminder
that was staring me in the face – even though it hadn't seen me
yet.
3
double whisky and gingers, drunk in quick succession and courtesy of
the open bar, steeled me for any awkward conversations – they
wrapped me in a fuzzy blurry blanket, tinged my cheeks pink and
stretched my grin wider as I watched my friend and his wife take to
the floor for their first dance to an obscure indie song.
I
needn't have worried. In fact, I should have guessed. This would be
an encounter if only in terms of seeing and then quietly and very
deliberately not seeing.
The averting of eyes and turning of backs; the division of the dance
floor and careful scheduling of bar visits...it was the only way it
could have gone. It was their usual tactic.
Because
they are, and always were, a coward.
This
in-person yet indirect encounter was still a relief. It was only when
I realised that I was in the right, that I didn't need to hide behind
a partner because I had a whole crew on my side (and I was definitely
more of a legit guest at this party, not a plus one)...that I started
to feel powerful and
ecstatic and yeah,
strong yet again.
And
I will continue to be strong from now on. I won't be afraid of the
past, of whatever comes back to me, be it in human form or just a
forgotten story or even a place...I can handle it. I reckon I've got
past the worst of it now. And I've smashed it every time so far.
King Lear ; who was the fool?
21 November 2016 • barbican, barbican centre, Drama, fool, gracie gets dramatic, King Lear, play, royal shakespeare company, theatre, theatre review
I
was delighted to attend the rather exciting press night of The Royal
Shakespeare Company's latest hit production at the Barbican
Theatre...King Lear. Having never seen this play before, my
excitement was extra intense. I won't lie, the duration terrified me
slightly – 2 hours 55 minutes?! Madness. But y'know what? I didn't
even feel I was watching for that long. I was into it for the
entirety of the performance, and the time flew by.
My
only query of this play was...who was the fool? No, really?
The
obvious answer would be, well, The Fool. The
king's resident fool, in his woolly hat and with his sly ways, was
played by Graham Turner. I had seen him before in Cymbeline, and so
my brain fizzed with confusion when I saw him suddenly in his
shocking white long johns playing up to the crowd. He was the classic
Shakespearean entertainer, the perfect blend of idiot and secret
genius – the obvious choice for this title, the ultimate fool. And
yet...I contested his position.
(Photo by Ellie Kurttz (c) RSC)
My
next candidates for the role would be the
dukes. The
Duke of Albany
(played by Clarence
Smith)
and the Duke of
Cornwall (played
by James Clyde)
were exceptionally dense at times – however, maybe not quite as
easily led as the Earl
of Gloucester (played
by David
Troughton),
who was viciously blinded (sorry for the spoiler) and then taken,
allegedly, to a cliff he could leap off, by his son...what a silly
billy he was.
(Photo by Ellie Kurttz (c) RSC)
Still,
these noble men were not quite as foolish as, well, the king himself. Yep, Lear was a complete and utter buffoon, and he wins the title of
Ultimate Fool, I give it to him with both hands and a roll of my
eyes. My goodness, what a tit he was at times. He was so easily
absorbed in others' lives and stories, his beliefs were so quickly
changed...and the flower crown was just the finishing touch, the
final nail. But then, the last scene of the play was his becoming.
And his end. I actually found myself touched and feeling sorry for
him as he addressed his comrades and us, the audience, for the final
time.
(Photo by Ellie Kurttz (c) RSC)
(Photo by Ellie Kurttz (c) RSC)
Oh,
quick little footnote here, you know who wasn't a fool, like not at
all? Edgar. Or should I say Poor Tom?! Either way, my
gosh, he was an absolute genius at times, a sparkling whizz of wit
and excitement. It was a real treat to see Oliver Johnstone again,
having seen him just the week before in Cymbeline and properly
fallen for his Iachimo – the sleazy son of a something who
scammed and tricked his way through the play. I can confirm that yes,
I do indeed fancy him in both roles.
(Photo by Ellie Kurttz (c) RSC)
Thank you again, my beloved RSC, for an absolute treat of a play. I can safely say a night with you guys is always most excellent – and even at times educational! See you again soon, I hope...
King Lear runs at the Barbican Theatre until 23rd December.
Just one more month to see this excellent production!
Just one more month to see this excellent production!
Find out more - and book your tickets - here and enjoy the foolishness!
Just Some Things #7 : Emma Petfield.
18 November 2016 • amwriting, Emma Petfield, fiction, guest blogger, guest posts, Howling Reviews, Just Some Things, prompts, writing prompts
This
is the latest instalment in my feature Just Some Things!
In
case you don't know, here's how it works...
I
send a writer an individual email with a series of prompts from the
'642 Things to Write About' book – chosen entirely at random most
of the time – and then when I
get the responses, I dedicate a post to them and their piece. It
could be short, long, backwards, in another language, I don't mind.
It'll be an adventure whatever happens! And they can use or ignore
however many of the prompts they wish.
When
published on the blog, their piece will be put in first and then I'll
add in a little piece beneath it, my response to the same prompt. I
will always ensure mine is shorter and less prominent, obviously.
It's all about featuring my fave writers.
Today
my guest writer is Emma Petfield of Howling Reviews – the place
to go online for succinct, fair and generally lovely book reviews. Emma recently became Comms Exec for John Murray Ltd, which obvs means I can now visit her in the gorgeous Carmelite House for lunch dates...
She and I actually have a writing date set up this very evening, and I cannot wait.
Their
prompt was: Write
the first line of your memoir. Then the second.
The
change was never something I anticipated. It just happened one night.
It
was kind of like an out of body experience. One moment I was sitting
on my bed flipping through a bio-analytics textbook, the next my skin
began to bubble, my bones shifted and my muscles burned
spasmodically. There’s nothing quite like the sound of your own
bone cracking. I’ve come to decipher between a clean break, an
egregious snap, and the crunch of the irreversible. And
yet, my body always bounced right back.
The
nights were the worst. Not knowing if I was going to get my regular
hours or if I’d spend the time writhing in pure agony and wake up
with gaps in my memory. But then those breaks disappeared; I wished
they hadn’t.
Vivid
flashes of pounding against the ground; waking up to find leaves in
my hair. None of it made sense, until it did. Then the shedding
began. At that point, I really couldn’t deny it anymore. I still
didn’t want to believe it.
It
was getting more frequent and I didn’t know how to control it. I
watched as my skin flecked with fur, a periwinkle grey. If it wasn’t
for the fact that the entire experience was terrifying, I’d be
mesmerised by the sublime beauty of my other form. The only bonus was
that my legs had never looked so athletic.
I
took up running, became pretty good at it, actually. One day I was
jogging home, about a mile away. It was still light outside despite
the rain, so I thought it was safe. It had never happened in the day
before. So when the ache ran from the tip of my spine to my feet, I
knew I wasn’t going to make it home. The cracking began, my heart
thudded in my ears. I dropped to the pavement, thrashing against wet
curb. Bones re-aligned. Skin morphed. I emerged on my feet – all
four of them. A pair of yellow eyes staring back at me. My own eyes.
And
here is my
response
to the same prompt...
The
cheeky Ms Fate once said to her unusual suitor, Sir Coincidence: 'I
feel we were meant to be.'
The entranced man held his tongue, when
really he knew deep in his soul that it was just a lucky break, that
their paths had happened to cross, nothing more to it than that.
As
he watched her victoriously sip her drink, smirking to herself, he
knew he couldn't ruin this perfect moment, this happenstance, by
shining a light on the truth. So he kept quiet, and let her have this
one. And they were happily together from then on, until forever.
*
If you'd like to be involved in one of these Just Some Things posts, email me at [email protected].
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Social Icons