Today I have something a little bit different for you. During my writing class in America, one week we had to write a monologue from the point of view of a well-known person and everyone else had to try and guess who it was. I wanted to see if you could guess mine. I’m looking for the person and the point in their career. Digital high fives to anyone who gets it!
They thought I was just a stupid, bratty kid.
I wasn’t. I made millions. Does that strike you,
as stupid? I mean, I played up to it: they looked at my blonde hair,
and bubblegum optimism and they smiled at me with pity,
like I was dying or something. They thought they were using me.
It was kind of hilarious really.
I may have been sixteen but I understood how the business worked.
Find something they want, and repeat until you’re a washed,
up twenty five year old who’s now a decade out of touch,
and still wears children’s clothes, in a trashy way though.
I fully understood all that then. But I have bigger plans now.
I know how to break the system, how to shock.
I’ve already shown my versatility, I graduated from tacky,
kids performer to fully-formed pop sensation. Not many,
can make the transition, but I did. Do they give me any credit?
Don’t be ridiculous, they can’t see me as the queen I am,
I have only air in my head and boys on the agenda.
Good one. Let them think that, I’ll outsmart them. They’ll think,
I’m crazy but I’ll have gotten exactly what I wanted.
I know how the system works.
I refuse to be washed up, I’ll be back on the radar in no time.
I’m a legend, a national treasure, a nineties sensation.
When a woman has a child, they say her career is over,
a shambles, a joke, if she ever tried to get it back.
She’s reduced to the red circle of shame in trashy magazines,
they call me a bad mother if I want to put something new,
together. ‘She should be with her children’, ‘another,
celebrity letting the nanny bring up the kids’.
They think by following me around, those paparazzi stalkers,
means they’ve pieced together my whole life through their lens,
of money-making, story-breaking, warped humanity.
But it’s all a show. They’re just to oblivious and desperate,
to see what’s in front of their face. Ironic really,
I’m the one playing them, yet, I’m the ditzy idiot?
Watch out for it, it’s going to be a spectacle,
they’ll question my sanity, let them, that’s nothing,
out of the usual. I refuse to fade away, I’d rather burn out.
They’ll think I’m fabulous, or they’ll think I’m attention-seeking.
Either way, I’ll have my kingdom back.
You can’t keep a queen down.
Let’s Groove – Earth, Wind & Fire
So today is just going to be a quick post since I’ve only just got out of work. Give me a break guys, I’m trying to keep to schedule!
Ha, anyway. So you may have noticed by now that I quite like writing. This affinity wholeheartedly extends into letters. I love receiving mail. I find it so exciting. Unless it’s a bill, obviously. But as soon as I see a handwritten addressed letter to me I’m super curious to know what’s inside. I think it’s one of my only qualms with the internet, yeah emails and Messenger are fine but you know they’re not the same. There’s something romantic about the care put into a letter and I’m all for it.
When I was away at uni I would exchange letters and cards with my nan. Sometimes she’d just tell me what she’d done with her day and other times I’d tell her how drunk I’d been the day before. Sometimes she’d send me news clippings and other times I’d tell her my dreams. That practise has kind of fell by the wayside now that I live so close to her again. But it’s a practise I really enjoyed so I want to start it back up with her (she doesn’t know yet) and other people I’m close to.
So the self-care task this week is easy: write someone a letter. Could be a sister or a best mate. Could even be to a stranger. Is there something you need to say, need to admit, but don’t want to tell anyone who could really judge you? Maybe it’s something too hard to say. That’s fine. Just write a letter, address it to somewhere and post it. I’ve literally just thought of this idea and I’m already excited to try it. I think it could be liberating. Maybe write some words of encouragement that you think someone needs to hear. Kind words from a stranger.
If it’s to someone you know, just tell them how your day has been. Or tell them your deepest fears. Of course we’re gonna have to take our heads out of our phones to actually find out our friends addresses. I know I don’t know as many as I should. So that’s it, choose one and get going!
Dreamer – Isbells
So November is finally over and nanowrimo has finished. Did I get 50,000 words? Look who we’re talking to. I did not. But I did get 18,024. And for anyone who knows me we can agree that is a fucking victory. So I’m gonna keep going through December at my own snail pace. Fifty thousand will be reached eventually. And then it’s on to draft two and draft three and draft four. But let’s not think about that right now! What the month taught me was discipline and productivity. At least half the time. The other half I was watching Netflix or staring at a wall. I’m happy with the direction the project is going but it needs a lot more work and structure and some other stuff too. But feeling positive and I guess that’s all I can ask for at this point. Some sections have been fun to write and others incredibly hard. But I’m pushing through and I’ll keep you posted.
Heart Attack – Wild Rivers
So yeah, it’s been a horrendous amount of time since I last posted anything. And I’m not even going to make any excuses. They wouldn’t be true anyway. What was I doing in those three months? We’ll never know. Writing brings me joy but I just haven’t been able to convince myself to do it for a while. But rather than diving into that problem I’m just going to jump with my whole being into something else. In the immortal words of Jake Peralta ‘eyes closed, head first, can’t lose’.
What am I jumping into, you may be wondering. Can’t you read titles? Nanowrimo, mate! I’ve known about nano for years now and I’ve even pretended to participate a few times, I think my most amount of words was like 800 last year. Told you I was pretending. And we all know how fucking good at procrastinating and falling off the radar I am. But I figure, like, people with eight kids, two jobs and nine other hobbies somehow manage to crank out 50,000 words every November so really, what fucking excuse have I got? I told you at the start of this post already, I have no excuses. Come on, keep up.
So I’m giving it the old college try and I’m really hoping it works. I need to prove to myself that I can actually fucking do something I say I can do. Not even that I can do but that I want to do. It’s just stupid to float through life never really committing to anything but having these grand ideas about what you want your life to look like. Just actually do it now or shut up. I mean it’s currently 1:02am and I have zero words. But it’s November 1st til I go to bed and the night is young! I’m feeling good about this which I guess that and a laptop and a load of coffee and good vibes from the universe is all I need.
What am I writing about you may ask? You may not cos you might not care. In which case, why are you here, really. Well I love creative non-fiction and what do I ever write about? I’m going to write about myself, about my family, about our history and our future. This year our lives were changed forever. This is a grief memoir.
Wish me luck. Don’t. Luck isn’t real.
Golden October – All The Luck In The World (cos I’m so excited that they’ve finalllllllly got a new song)
So I’m starting a poem project.
It may turn into the 100 Poem Challenge but let’s be real, that will never happen in one hundred consecutive days in my world. There’s no rules. Let’s go.
I wonder why people hate
it so much, prefer the sound
of their moans, problems, idiocies.
Shouting to be heard whilst ignoring
They think we’re lonely,
but we hear. We can feel their
voices dripped in isolation, desperation.
Silence. They find it so loud
where we feel peace, tranquility.
My words mean something
where their’s pale in significance,
the sheer quantity of speech.
Endlessly left wanting,
where us, the introverts, enjoy
the silence. We are free.
Ever So Shy – General Fiasco